Seven Stars: Paleblood
by Aerothird
Summary: A city gripped in terror as a beastly scourge sweeps through its streets, threatening to end everything the denizens of Yarnham once knew. Seven stars, seven friends, plunge into the depths of the nightmare; will they reveal a truth meant to be forgotten? Or will they be liberated from their wild curiosity?


**Chapter One: Bretheren and Blood**

Have you ever woken from a dream, that you were so sure was real? To taste that tantalizing feeling of a deeper reality? So deep, that you hope it isn't real.

 _God, let it not be real…_

I wake to air thick with chemicals, the scents of old wood, alcohol, and opiates hang stagnant and suffocating, mixed with less identifiable stenches that leave men reeling. A dull ache pulses in my arm, not too painful to bear, but much too distracting to escape notice. I slowly sit up, opening my eyes, revealing a truth that would haunt anyone.

 _I am not in my bed._

No, the pleasantries of carpet and fresh linen are lost here, replaced by what could only be described as the least equipped medical facility modernity would accept, broken glass and dried blood patch the nightmarish room.

 _What is this? Where is this? God, what is happening…_

Grasping for my cross, always adorning my neck, I now realize I lack even the luxury of familiar clothing. Instead, my normal nightwear is replaced by a red vest and black shawl, with matching trousers and a bloodied bandage around my arm, suspenders hanging at my knees.

 _What in God's name is happening?_

I quickly unwrap the bandage from my arm, revealing a small but telltale wound from a syringe. Panicking I look near the bed, trying to find the source of the wound, and immediately spot an IV drip, a vial of thick blood at the end of the pipe. I'm panting now, my mind reeling at all I am trying to process, I try to steady myself on a chair, when a small note flutters off. I bend over and carefully pick up the note, holding it to the single illuminating lantern.

"Seek Paleblood to transcend the hunt."

 _What? No, no…that can't be right…that can't be…this isn't_

Funny that little note should shake me to the core in this way-but not without reason. I rapidly and clumsily navigated through the room, my panic increasing at every correct turn, every familiar chair and bed I knew too well. In fact I was so engrossed in this state, I even failed to notice that no injured, feral beast awaited me in the sickroom. I ran faster and faster, pushing chairs and beds from my path until I finally swung the entrance door open, and gazed at the cruel reality of this nightmare.

IOSEFKA'S CLINIC

I read the sign correctly, no mistake. "Iosefka's Clinic". No matter how much I rubbed my eyes or told myself it wasn't real, the sign was there, existing, mocking everything I thought I knew. I dropped to my knees, the vast red of a Yarnham sunset blanketing the streets.

 _What the hell is this…_

In my muted, paralytic terror, I failed to notice the Yarnhamite citizen bring his cleaver to my bowed head.

" _AWAY! LEAVE!"_

* * *

 _The … of it …, rests .. ….. seven …_

 _What?_

I gasped awake, grasping at words I dreamt, but I couldn't recall them, just out of reach.

 _Wait…dreamt?_

The realization strikes me that I am both awake and very much living. I look around my environment and realize where I am. The foggy air, far off trees reaching to the heavens, and the small workshop on the hill.

 _The Dream. Good a place as any to find my bearings I suppose._

I walked up the steps on the hill, breathing the cold air, absorbing the all-too-familiar environment. I passed the threshold of the small workshop door and was greeted by a worn yet strong voice.

"This old shack is seeing quite the crowd."

I gaze upon the withered old man, bound to his wheelchair and cradling a cane. His clothes are tattered and faded, his features stretched and leathery. Small strands of white hair dangle from his loose hat.

"I'm-sorry?" I say still reeling at all the information that has assaulted me in the past few minutes.

"Heh, sorry. You're sure to be in quite a fine haze by now." The man continued, the familiar dialogue so disturbingly different, "just go out and kill a few beasts, its' for your own good. It's just what hunters do."

I nodded and began walking away, that is until the man unexpectedly spoke again.

"Also, I should mention, once your head's clear; seek your fellows. You'll never know when you might need a friendly hand in an unfriendly place." He said this an extended his hand, which held a handheld bell of medium size and bronze color, gesturing for me to take it. I accepted this gift and walked outside to the sight of small pygmies, no taller than my knee rising from a fog in the ground, presenting me with new clothing consisting of a Victorian-style coat, cape, and vest combo, a yellow facemask and tricorn hat, complete with white feather, and a pair of leather boots and gloves. I accepted these gifts, and didn't make it halfway down the path before I was presented with yet another group of messengers presenting me with my last gift: a finely sharpened rapier, flintlock mechanism housed in the hilt, along with a lit torch.

 _If it wasn't real before…_

* * *

I awoke back in the sickroom of the clinic, now equipped with my new attire and weapons. I strode out the front door, confident at the very minimum with a sense of direction and a false sense of security, courtesy of my newly acquired sword. I made my way toward the city, clumsily flashing my sword and torch at anyone who approached me.

 _I can't keep that up long…sooner rather than later, I'm going to have to face things that aren't so easily startled._

I approached a wall of brick and mortar, an iron ladder ascending into the cities' superstructure, a testament to the determination and faith of a people indoctrinated. Truly, the state of Yarnham was disturbing. As a follower of a more sensible church, it was profoundly unsettling; what was accomplished here truly reflects the power ones' fear and faith can hold when abused by those with much to lose and everything to gain. I finished my long ascent of the ladder, which I found to be strangely untiring. I continued forward past the first lamp, which the messengers lit for me as I passed, and continued down a small staircase. There was a yarnhamite standing with his back to me, staring over the balcony. I steeled myself.

 _Dammit. If there's anyone still in there-confused by all this…._

 _I'm sorry._

I dashed forward plunging my rapier deep into the creature's back. The fatally wounded thing let out an inhuman cry, before falling to the ground covered in its' own blood. I removed the rapier.

 _Damn. Dammit. God what-why. Why, why…._

 _Why did I enjoy that?_

From there on, I made a pattern of killing anything that threatened me, reminding myself that these creatures are lost to their sickness-never able to become what they once were. I knew how the so called "beast curse" worked-of course I'd enjoy the killing; hunters could be driven into a mad euphoria by it, "blood drunk" they called them. Luckily my innate squeamishness of dead things metered this well, keeping me as level headed as I could be in this circumstance. Oddly, it wasn't so much violence or conflict that ever made me uncomfortable-just the presence of cadavers; it was always eerie being near the remains of that which _used_ to live. This oddity of mine provided me a sense of mobility here, having a willingness to fight coupled with zero desire to stay in one place. As such I moved onward, navigating the familiar cityscape and cutting down the beasts in my path. The creatures here were frail by most standards; starved for blood and otherwise plagued by simple madness. Before I knew it, I stood in front of the great bridge, bloodied and far from broken, though, with great trepidation. I absently ran my fingers across my belt, feeling the collected syringes of healing blood I came across-useful for keeping oneself from expiry. I knew what lay ahead.

 _Cleric beast,_ I thought, _long reach, but in immense pain and slow to move. Slow at least by "beast" standards._

I shuddered with the thought of how these things came to be; high ranking officials of the "healing church" having consumed the very tainted blood that consumed this city. The blood overtakes their body and mind transforming them into a goat-headed, sharp-clawed, vicious thing with the scream of a banshee.

 _Welp. How hard can it be?_ I meant the thought ironically, and yet it still felt like I was going to pay for even thinking that.

I took the plunge, and was immediately greeted by an ear-bursting screech as the house-sized creature leapt onto the bridge. The next few minutes felt like years as I dodged and countered, weaving between the things' legs. It seemed as each time my sword sliced through its' skin and tissue, I would feel the puncture of claws in my abdomen. Despite these seemingly fatal injuries, I fought on, regularly injecting myself with blood, feeling my fresh wounds seal shut as the battle forced me to my limit. I lunged, yet again feeling my rapier carve through the beasts' hide; a testament to the durability of this seemingly fragile blade. This time however, I felt a resistance resonate through the sword as it found purchase in the beasts' femur-and snapped it. The beast bellowed and fell to its' knees, I wasted no time. I leapt in front of the vile thing, removing my sword from its leg and brought my blade up through its' neck and pulled out through the chin – a clean vertical laceration.

 _Well…It's not moving but is it-_

I couldn't even finish the thought before the great black beast erupted in an explosion of blood, soaking me. My surprise outweighed my disgust and I slipped over in my startled state. With all the excitement, it didn't feel odd as I laughed uncontrollably.

 _What on Earth – that actually happened. That. Actually. Friggin'. Happened._

As if I hadn't had enough surprises to fill the rest of my life, I heard yet another familiar voice. But this voice, meant much, much, more.

" _To be fair_ ; I softened him up for you."

I snapped out of my adrenaline filled euphoria to see a man dressed similarly to myself; a black vest with torn coat and cape, black leather boots, iron gauntlets and a tricorn hat. The figure rested on a bloodied hammer nearly as large as himself, with an exceptionally large firearm slung from a sash that circled his vest. But mostly; I heard the voice.

"Niko…." I sputtered between breaths, in disbelief seeing my close friend accompany this otherwise dreary scene, "….what are you on about?" I started laughing again, this time with a genuine spirit. Niko grinned widely.

"Well at least _you_ only dealt with the one arm – I had both!" He said, taking my hand and lifting me to my feet. I thought on that and realized he was right, the beasts' smaller left arm hadn't swung at me once.

"No, I see how it is, break the small fry and leave the dangerous crap to me, huh?" Niko squinted and raised the pitch of his voice.

"Don't take this away from me, ya dingus." We shared a laugh and strictly the manliest of bro-hugs. Somehow, the Yarnham sky looked just a little less foreboding. Maybe it was just something in me eye.


End file.
